


Wait

by amine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Love Letters, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amine/pseuds/amine
Summary: "One by one, she read letter after letter, getting a glimpse at a man she had truly never known, and with each letter she was more and more overwhelmed by how deeply and desperately her father had been in love with Alfred, though circumstances and distance kept him from that love."





	Wait

Her father was an interesting man. An author and a loner—on the surface he was the very picture of a distinguished English gentleman, but underneath he was not above getting drunk and shouting obscenities at anyone who would listen to him. He knitted and kept a beautiful rose garden, but he also liked pirates and had a collection of authentic memorabilia. He was grumpy and difficult to deal with most of the time, and even when he wasn't, he always seemed a little distant.

For years she thought that those were all reasons why her parents divorced, but her mother always avoided the subject of her father, and her father would merely reply that her mother was “a fine woman” and then change the subject. She had lived with her mother and only occasionally visited her father, and there had been no traces of their former marriage in either house, especially not after her mother remarried.

So, many years later, after her father's death, she was quite interested in going through his personal items and learning a bit more about a man she had barely known.

In a box stored away in a hall closet was a photo album full of the wedding pictures she'd always been curious about, and looking at them, she began to understand why her parents never wanted to talk about them. They both looked far too formal and stiff for a wedding, which should have been a joyous occasion. Even in pictures as they danced together and shared a kiss, they did not appear in love at all. In the end, she had to close the album and put it away, because it hurt to know that even when they were together, her parents did not love each other.

She also found various trinkets her father had collected over the years—newspaper clippings, honors he'd received for his military service, scrapped outlines and drafts for books he'd never published, needlework and figures he'd made himself, among other things. No matter what she unearthed, her father seemed no more remarkable than the distant man she'd always thought of him as.

Hidden underneath a pile of clothing in his bedroom closet was a box that was full of what must have been hundreds of letters all addressed to one person. Alfred Jones. As she sifted through the letters, she realized that they were all sealed—never sent. Biting her lip, she removed one of the more worn-looking letters and opened it, noting the date as when her father was a young man.

_My darling Alfred,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know it has not been long since our last meeting, but when face to face with you I feel so lightheaded that I can barely think straight much less put what I want to tell you into words, so I am writing you this letter instead._

_In my mind's eye, I can imagine a world where it is all right to love you as I do, and that we would not be accused of mental illness. That we would not have to hide behind closed doors under the guard of night, and my parents would accept you as my choice and not arrange for my marriage to someone else._

_My mind is much kinder than reality, of course._

_It is cruel of life to curse me with such a love when I cannot enjoy it as fully as I would like, but I do love you, more than I can put into words._

_I look forward to our next meeting._

_All my love,_

_Arthur_

She lowered the letter in shock, her mind desperately trying to parse what she had just read. A love letter from her father to another man. Short though it was, it had far more tenderness than anything she'd ever seen or heard from her father her entire life. In the box were more letters, all addressed to Alfred, and despite a nagging feeling of guilt at digging into such a private part of her father's life, she picked up another of the letters and opened it.

_Dearest Alfred,_

_It is done. My engagement is set and there is no escaping it. She is a fine, beautiful woman who will make a fine, beautiful wife, but I do not love her. I cannot love her._

_I want to run away somewhere. Somewhere with you where no one knows us and all that is between us will be accepted. Yes, I know. No such place exists. I will face my fate like a man, though I imagine it will feel more like being led to the gallows than standing before an altar to marry the woman I will vow to spend my life with._

_Never has our distance seemed so cruel._

_I want to write more, tell you more, but my hands are shaking so much that it is difficult to even hold my pen._

_Instead I will try to comfort myself with a thought that you will continue to wait for me, and maybe time will change the circumstances that keep us apart._

_Yours always,_

_Arthur_

One by one, she read letter after letter, getting a glimpse at a man she had truly never known, and with each letter she was more and more overwhelmed by how deeply and desperately her father had been in love with Alfred, though circumstances and distance kept him from that love.

But he had never sent any of the letters, merely wrote them, pouring out his feelings on a regular basis.

The final letter she opened was from a fairly new envelope, and opening the letter revealed that it was written only months before her father's death.

_My love,_

_How long has it been since I last saw your face? Far, far too long, but even if I had the means to see you, I've lacked the strength for many years. I am getting old, and it has finally caught up to me. I know that I do not have much longer to live._

_I lived a good life, though I may not have always felt that it was true as I was living it. I met many people and saw many things, and I can't regret any of them._

_I do have many regrets, however. I was a terrible husband and a terrible father, but my greatest regret will always be that even during all of the years that I knew you, I never once told you that I love you. Instead, like a coward, I kept my feelings to myself, writing these letters that I never sent, and hoped that somehow you would understand without words that even just the sound of your voice could reduce me to incoherency._

_I love you, Alfred F. Jones. From the bottom of my heart. I only wish that I could have found the courage to actually say that to your face._

_I do not know what will follow after I have gone, but I hope that no matter where I go, you will eventually follow, and maybe we'll find that place that never existed in our life where we can be together._

_Until we meet again, my love,_

_Arthur Kirkland_

In the end, she had to weep—weep for her father and his doomed love and weep that she had never known him for the person he really was—deep and capable of love she couldn't quite comprehend. Her father who had always seemed so distant was merely looking off towards a place where he truly wanted to be.

After a time she finally got her emotions under control, and she packed the letters away neatly in the box, sealing it to be taken with her. She had funeral arrangements and other business to take care of, but the first free moment she had, she planned to go overseas. Some were many decades late, and maybe the one meant to receive them no longer lived at that address, but she'd see to it that the letters reached their intended destination.

**Author's Note:**

> This one was inspired by a story called "Love Must Not Be Forgotten" (it reads similarly, but the circumstances are different).
> 
> I _did_ write a sequel to this one, but I'm not satisfied with how it turned out. I think this one stands better on its own with an ambiguous ending that can be filled in however you want.


End file.
